


Cherry Cigarettes

by douchebagindisguise



Category: Cowboy Bebop (Anime)
Genre: Bodily Harm, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Canon, Rare Pairings, Spoilers, do not read this if you havent seen the whole anime, last episode spoilers, spike is an asshole, spike survives, talk about your feelings bro, talking it out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:54:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23915644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/douchebagindisguise/pseuds/douchebagindisguise
Summary: Post-canon, episode 26 spoilers.Jet Black worries about Spike more than anyone should, or anyone cares to. They've known each other for years, they've seen every part of each other and yet barely open up about what's happened. Jet's new mission is to get Spike to finally talk to him, and somehow ends up better than he expected.
Relationships: Jet Black/Spike Spiegel
Comments: 1
Kudos: 55





	Cherry Cigarettes

Spike had left three days ago and Jet had worried about him. He desperately tried not to, but his nature was far too soft than he'd ever admit. Jet worried he'd be burying Spike instead of patching him up.

Jet didn't see Spike leave, but Faye had. Faye hadn't given him any information about where he'd gone or what he'd gone to do. She disappeared a day later. She hadn't said goodbye, left a note, or done anything. She just up and left, without a trace.

The Bebop was so quiet that Jet could hear his boots echo against the ground. He was starting to feel differently about the vastly empty ship, finding that he much preferred when there were other voices echoing along with him. 

Jet tried to remember his last moments with Spike, just in case, they were the very last. Eating boiled eggs over the coffee table, sharing a cigarette by the window, and examining Ed's goodbye note. Jet tried to think of what he'd said to Spike, and if it had been enough. 

Jet quickly decided that nothing would be enough for Spike. From what Jet knew about him, he'd abandoned his role in the syndicate for a woman. A woman that he waited for, a woman that died. After her death, Spike seemed different. Not the usual apathetic, collected space cowboy that Jet had met three years prior, but a more determined side of Spike.

Jet entertained the idea that Spike had gone back to settle the score with his old partner, Vicious. Jet had met the man once before and quickly decided he was a bigger asshole than Spike himself. Jet tried to convince himself that Spike had definitely gone off on some big bounty that he thought he could handle by himself. Going after Vicious was idiotic, but Jet wouldn't put it past Spike. 

Jet skipping cooking dinner, not feeling especially hungry on the empty ship. He attempted to quell his nerves by tending to his bonsai trees. 

Jet sat in front of them, admiring the green leaves. He clipped very tediously, taking out frail or dying leaves and branches. He checks the soil and waters the dry plants hesitantly. Jet noticed that he tended to overwater sometimes, and had to hold back. 

Eventually, he stepped back to admire his work, less than satisfied with the outcome. He forced himself to walk away, as to not overwork the plants.

Jet had only just begun to relax on the couch, aiming for a nap. He had kept waiting to hear the click of doggy claws on the floor or Ed's laugh. He expected to see Faye turn the corner, coffee and cigarette in hand. It was just silence.

The phone rang, so Jet answered it and it was Spike, all bruises and swollen skin, calling from his ship's intercom.

"What the fuck?" 

"Hey, uh," Spike's voice sounded terribly strained, he coughed. Jet wondered how badly he was wounded. "Wanna come pick me up?" Jet heard Spike press a button and ten seconds later, his coordinates popped up on the screen. 

"Yeah, I'm on my way. Sit tight," Jet said and the intercom disappeared. Jet narrowed his eyes at the coordinates, he recognized the area.

Jet didn't need to question what was in Tharsis. He already knew that's where the syndicate headquarters was located. Spike had gone to kill Vicious and miraculously survived. Jet didn't need to wonder what had gone down, he was thrilled to hopefully have Spike in one piece by the end of it.

Jet went back to manually control the Bebop, steering her off course towards Mars. He knew it wouldn't take him long if he managed the thrusters well enough. Jet wasn't sure where this giddy concern had come from, this Mother Egg type shit.

Jet had always been inclined to protect those around him. It's why he was a cop in the first place. Now, for him to continue on and realize that those inclinations stayed with him, was a little jarring. He thought that he'd left that life behind. There are some parts you just can't get rid of.

Jet leaned against the window and lit a cigarette as he approached Mars. He could see smoke coming from a small patch of buildings. He assumed that's where Spike was. He parked the Bebop further from the building and he could easily see the Swordfish from where he stood. Spike was in the cockpit, hunched over himself.

Jet worried he was dead. Genuine concern pooled in Jet's gut, then slow panic. Jet started running, tearing open the door and taking Spike in his arms. Jet immediately felt for a pulse, it was slow but it was there. Spike's breathing was shallow, but he was alive.

Jet docked the Swordfish onto the Bebop and laid Spike down on his bed. Jet put the Bebop on autopilot and grabbed his medical kit. All in all, it took him twenty minutes. He sat down on the bed beside Spike.

His face had dark, swollen bruises and he was covered in blood. Spike was also unconscious. Jet tapped his face and tugged at his clothes. He needed to clean the wounds, which would be difficult if Spike wasn't awake. 

Jet wrestled his jacket, shirt, and pants off of him, leaving him in blood red boxer shorts. There was a deep cut across his chest, it was still oozing blood. Jet grabbed gauze from his kit and pressed it against the wound, he knew he would have to suture it up. 

Jet used a rag and a wash bucket to basically give Spike a sponge bath. He cleaned the wounds gently, soaking up blood and wiping away dirt and grime. There was another deep cut on his leg, very obviously from a long blade, like a katana. Jet used a steady hand to suture up the wounds and wrap them in thick gauze. 

Jet found a couple of bullet grazes, small nicks and scrapes. He used disinfectant and more bandages. He checked the chest wound and found that it had stopped bleeding. He used more disinfectant while he sutured the cut. He wrapped it carefully and decided to check for broken bones. 

His body was bruised in many places. The severity was surprising. Large purple splotches of sensitive skin covered his torso, his back, and even reached his arms and legs. His left eye and his nose had been busted up, too. 

Jet used light pressure to examine Spike's arms and legs, finding none of the bones broken. When he went to check Spike's ribs, his body squirmed and Spike let out a pained groan. Jet took his hands away and glanced at him, his eyes fluttered open very slowly. Spike let out a breath.

"Oh god, it's you," he breathed and closed his eyes again. 

Jet was quiet for a second, moving his hands again to finish checking Spike's ribs. Spike let him know which ribs were bruised by letting out uncomfortable moans of pain, if the purple splotches weren't enough. Jet was happy to report none of them were broken.

"Got busted up pretty bad this time, bud," Jet mused quietly and Spike tried to swat at him but Jet caught his wrist easily. "Take it easy, swimming bird, you just defeated your arch-nemesis," Jet said and wrapped an arm under Spike to prop him up against the headboard.

Spike groaned in response. "He's really gone," Spike whispered. Jet wrapped thick bandages around his torso, hopefully, to keep him from bumping his ribs. Jet moved Spike's legs and sat next to him. He reached up with the rag to wipe the blood off his face and Spike swatted his hand away again. "Stop that," he rasped.

Jet frowned and turned Spike's head to see the wide gash on the side of his head. Jet rinsed the rag with warm water and tried to separate Spike's hair to better examine the wound. Before Jet could do anything, Spike wrapped his skinny fingers around his wrist.

"Careful," he whispered, his eyes were unfocused and glassy. Jet nodded slowly and he dabbed gently against the wound, Spike let out a sigh. The rag came back bloody, so Jet used a lot of disinfectants to clean it. It didn't need stitches so he wrapped Spike's head in bandages, making sure the gash was adequately covered. 

Jet sat back and looked at Spike, who sat with his eyes closed. His breathing was irregular and raspy, so Jet moved him again so he was lying down. Jet placed a gentle hand on his chest, and Spike covered it with his own. His eyes opened very slightly and Jet knew he was looking at him.

"Thank you, Jet," he said softly, and Jet smiled.

"Just get some rest now, call me if you need anything."

Spike slept for about twenty-six hours. Jet checked on him regularly, making sure his sutures were healing okay. When Spike woke up, Jet brought him a glass of water and some fresh fruit. 

Spike drank slowly, not trying to waterboard himself. He ate a couple pieces of fruit, but ultimately asked Jet for a cigarette. Jet was able to chuckle and fish out a cigarette and a lighter from his pocket. He lit it for Spike, and he inhaled very slowly. He coughed lightly and waved the smoke away. 

Jet watched Spike smoke from the doorway, occasionally asking him what hurt and what felt better. Spike reported mostly aches and pains, but that was expected.

"You got your ass beat, Spike," Jet chided with a laugh. Spike rolled his eyes but Jet could see the quirk of a smile on his lips. "Take it easy, there's nothing to do."

"Have you heard from Faye?" he asked. Jet shook his head and turned away to finish his cigarette.

Spike stayed in bed for a couple days before venturing out into the rest of the ship. He limped slightly, groaned and moaned when he walked, and complained about his pain. Jet likened him to a zombie at one point. 

There were always broken stitches with Spike. Jet always knew when they happened because Spike always let out a hiss followed by a hushed, "Oh shit!"

So Jet would grab the medical kit and sit on the couch, waiting for Spike to come tell him about the stitches. There was always blood, too. 

Jet was not a medical professional by any means, but he knew very basic survival aid. It seemed to prove helpful over the years, and Spike never complained. Jet also found out that Spike was shit with a needle. It was easier to suture his own wounds than to have Spike help. 

But Jet would suture up Spike's reopened wounds without complaint. Spike never looked him in the eye and always thanked him. Jet never tried to make it seem like a big deal, but he didn't mind being so close to Spike. 

Spike was a difficult man to gauge sometimes. He was arrogant, lazy, impulsive. There was no telling when he was upset with himself or someone else. He walked with this sort of knowing intelligence that dripped off of him like warm honey. His eyes were distant some days and alert other days. There was no telling what emotion Spike was feeling at any given time. Jet had learned that Spike was hesitant to outrightly tell him how he was feeling.

Over three years, Jet had grown quite fond of Spike. He rather liked having the others around as well, it made them feel like a team. Ever since they'd left, Jet had felt a crushing amount of emptiness. Seeing Spike again, knowing and feeling that he was alive, felt like a rush of cool air on a hot day.

Things had been calm during Spike's recovery weeks as Spike padded gently around the ship, smoked cigarettes, and napped on the couch. Jet had cooked normal dinners with the limited food stock they had. However, as the days went by, there was a change in Spike's behavior. 

It seemed like Spike was avoiding him. Spike might walk past Jet's room, or his garden, and when Jet pokes his head out to call for him, he's gone. Jet can never find him when he finishes cooking dinner, and Jet never caught him napping on the couch.

It was strange when Jet finally did encounter Spike, Spike wouldn't look him in the eye. There were no smiles, just silence, and Spike's painful intakes of breath. Jet came and sat down in front of him on the coffee table. Spike wouldn't look at him.

"Why're you upset with me?" Jet asked, not accusingly, just curious. Spike still wouldn't look at him. He mumbled something incoherently and Jet asked him to repeat himself.

"You're too good," Spike said finally, crossing his arms over his chest. Jet leaned back and smiled. 

"Now, what makes you say that?"

Spike rolled his eyes dramatically. "You cook, you clean, you... you take care of me," his voice was so quiet that Jet almost didn't hear him. "You're just, good, Jet. I don't know why you waste your time," Spike said with a huff.

Jet was a little surprised by Spike's answer. He'd never thought of Spike as a self-conscious being. He always wore his smooth face of confidence and bravado. But this Spike was unguarded, allowing himself to be vulnerable in front of Jet.

It wasn't the first time. Jet had spent three years around Spike, seeing him every day and noticing his mannerisms. Jet had seen the way he yearned for the stars, he'd witnessed the night terrors. Jet and Spike had gotten particularly close during those years, and sometimes the vulnerability that Spike showed Jet made butterflies erupt in his gut. 

Jet had only recently begun to see Spike in a slightly different light. It was more about the intrigue of his oddly colored eyes, on rare occasions his smile. The way his hair curled in every direction, and how Spike would constantly push it back and away from his face. His face, so stoic and calm, his pale porcelain skin. 

Every time a thought like that passed through Jet's head, he needed to take a breath. He had to still his beating heart and just take Spike for what he is. Spike is a traveler, he comes and goes as he pleases and never stayed for long. Jet was glad he'd stayed even this long, and even trusted him to prevent him from death.

"I'm not wasting my time," Jet said softly. "I'm happy right where I am," he said, trying to reassure him in some form. 

"But why? I'm fucking psychotic, Jet," Spike whined. Jet let out a soft chuckle and Spike glared at him and smacked his arm. "Don't laugh at me, asshole."

"I'm not laughing at you," Jet said, a smile on his face. There was a soft red blush that burned Spike's ears and flooded down his neck. "I won't deny that you're impulsive and overconfident," Jet said and Spike scoffed and looked away. "But, Spike," he finally met Jet's eyes. "I've known you for this long, you've got something special inside you. You're different than the people I've met. You trust me, Spike."

Spike's eyes bore intensely into Jet's, and Jet cleared his throat awkwardly. 

"Why would you say that?"

"Because it's the truth."

"What does the truth look like, black dog?" Spike said quietly, staring at his hands folded in his lap. Jet raised an eyebrow at him, for the nickname and the question itself. He wasn't sure how to answer, or what Spike wanted to hear.

"Well, that depends," Jet leaned closer to him, enough to force eye contact. "What do you want it to look like?" Spike's eyes shined with something Jet didn't recognize.

Spike put his hands against Jet's chest and pushed him back, standing up. Before he left, he looked back and sighed. "I don't know," he finally said before turning the corner.

Jet was left sitting on the coffee table with his face flushed a deep red. His heart was beating erratically and he was unsure how he wanted to proceed. Was Spike trying to get him to do something? If that's what it was, what the hell did Spike want him to do?

Obviously, Jet's mind went to some not so kid-friendly places when it came to Spike. He didn't know if the thoughts would ruin their relationship or create something incredible. 

Jet gave him some space for a couple days. Jet made dinner, as usual, trying to pretend that Spike's behavior didn't bother him. But it did, it bothered Jet a lot. He missed having normal conversations with him, laughing with him. He missed their movie nights and bounty hunts.

Spike was unusually menacing as the days went on. He would send weird looks in Jet's direction, but Jet also caught him staring on multiple occasions. 

There was one scene that always stuck out in Jet's mind. Jet had just gotten out of the shower, he was walking around his room without his mechanical arm attachment, a towel around his waist. Jet had been glancing over old scars in remembrance.

Spike had knocked on the door but hadn't waited for a response and walked in anyway. Jet was surprised but tried to keep a calm expression. Spike's eyes had raked over his body, analyzing every scar, bump, and ridge. For some reason, Jet wasn't uncomfortable or worried about Spike seeing him. 

Spike had just stared at him, soaking in his appearance, until Jet cracked a grin at him and laughed. "Can I help you?" he asked with another chuckle. Spike had frowned and closed the door.

Was there something that Jet just wasn't seeing? Was he so oblivious to this dialogue Spike was trying to start? Did he need to push harder or play along? Jet was confused, and maybe a little frustrated by Spike's behavior.

Jet decided he needed to do something about it. With the others gone, Jet hated this weird gray area he and Spike had fallen into. As Jet began to think about it more, he thought about something that might make a difference. He was irritated he hadn't seen it before. 

Jet found Spike working on the Swordfish in the ship's bay. He was in the cockpit, altering some wiring. Jet had come inside and leaned against the ship, eyeing Spike inside.

"Do you want to know what the truth looks like?" he asked, and Spike glanced at him with a raised eyebrow. Jet cleared his throat. "You almost died, Spike," he said softly, the revelation came to him at some point while he was tending his trees. "You almost didn't come back, I almost lost you."

Spike scoffed, pretending like he didn't care. "I've died before, what does it matter?"

Jet found that the statement left a bad taste in his mouth. "Fuck you, don't start thinking that makes you immortal."

Spike rolled his eyes. "It doesn't matter, Jet. We're all destined to die," he said flippantly. He was starting to really piss Jet off.

"That doesn't mean your life isn't important," Jet pushed off the ship and started pacing the floor. He waved his hands around while he spoke, trying to emphasize his point. "Your life has meaning, you have a place here. If I'd lost you..." Jet stopped and Spike looked at him with curious eyes. "I don't know what I'd do if I lost you." Spike just stared at him. "You can't just throw your life away, you may have died once but you're not dead yet. There are years of life ahead of you," he continued, not really listening to what he, himself, was saying. Jet was more focused on Spike's eyes on him.

"How can you say that so easily? I can't fathom you actually care," Spike retorted, finally breaking their eye contact. He fiddled with the tool in his hands.

"Have you considered that I do care?" Jet asked, leaning against the opposite wall. He looked Spike up and down, noticing the stains of engine grease that Jet knew he'd later scrub off with stain remover. He sighed, more Mother Egg bullshit. Why did it come so naturally?

"I just," Spike paused and looked at Jet sourly. "I just don't understand why," he finished quietly and leaned against the ship, sounding defeated.

Jet moved closer to Spike, hoping he wouldn't run off again. "I'd make a fool of myself if I explained to you why I care," Jet said with a light shrug. "There's something about you, swimming bird," Jet stopped when he stood in front of Spike's slouched figure. "You pull people in but you keep them on a steel leash. When will you let them get close to you?" he asked and Spike's face contorted into something angry.

"What the fuck do you know about me?" he asked bitterly, turning away. Jet was right in front of him, there weren't any means of escape.

"I know that you fell for a woman, and she betrayed you. I know you had a partner, and he betrayed you. I know you were a part of a syndicate, and you betrayed them," Jet's voice was quiet, he leaned closer into Spike's space. Spike put his hands against Jet's chest to keep distance between them. "I fell for a woman, and she betrayed me. I had a partner, and he betrayed me, took my arm from me," Jet frowned and subconsciously rubbed the metal plating of his shoulder. "I know you don't think it, but we do have things in common." 

Spike looked utterly defeated. Jet moved away from him but Spike seemed like he was going to reach out for him. Jet glanced at him and Spike sighed.

Jet offered him a smile. "Let me know when you're ready to talk about it," he said softly before turning to leave.

Jet spent a couple hours with his bonsai to take his mind off the conversation. Instead of tending to their leaves, he opted for sitting among the trees and allowing the fresh air to clear his mind. 

Jet had figured that Spike didn't want to tell him about Julia's love or Vicious's friendship. Julia and Vicious were dead, though. That must be something that Spike needed to work through. Jet just wished that Spike would talk to him, he'd already made it clear that he was willing to listen. 

If Spike didn't want to talk to Jet, then he wouldn't. Jet was fully aware of this, but if Spike were to trust Jet with not only his life but his soul, it would change everything. Jet sat, staring at his beautiful bonsai trees.

Their leaves were full, healthy, and green. Just watching the long term growth of his trees brought him a sense of calm and joy. It was meditative, for him to just sit with his plants and think. To let his mind wander ever so slightly, to forget his worries and just breathe. 

There was a knock at the door that brought Jet out of his thoughts. Spike opened the door and leaned against the doorframe. His eyes were downcast and he had a slight frown on his face. There was a beat of silence.

"I was in love with her, y'know," he said, and Jet turned to him.

"I know."

"She's dead, too. I don't know why I expected her to ever come back to me," Spike said, his voice low. "I guess I thought that if I loved her enough, I'd be able to have her forever. The last time I saw her, she was so scared, so angry," Spike shook his head, his frown deepening. "When she died," he took a deep breath. "There was a part of me that died with her, that's why I decided to go after Vicious." Spike slid down the frame and sat down on the floor, across from Jet. "I loved Vicious," he said quietly. "Vicious was like my brother, my friend, my partner. I trusted him with my life and he took that from me." Spike let out a pitiful little laugh, "Literally."

Jet frowned, but leaned against the wall and continued to watch Spike closely. Jet was glad that Spike had come to talk to him, but he'd be lying if he said he saw it coming. 

"Vicious was always fair with me. Even until the end, he had always wanted it to be us. Now the syndicate is in shambles and I, miraculously, survived the whole ordeal," Spike let out a heavy breath and glanced at Jet.

"What did it feel like?" Jet asked softly, his eyes gazing over his trees. Spike shifted uncomfortably and ran a hand over his face.

"It fucking hurt. To hold her in my arms, to see him on the ground," Spike shook his head. "I'll never forget the way their eyes faded away. I'll never forget that feeling of fading away."

Jet turned to him with furrowed brows. "You remember what dying feels like?" he asked cautiously.

Spike nodded slowly. "I remember falling, and I somehow knew that I'd won. No matter what, I had won."

Jet looked at Spike. He was messy, his jacket was wrinkled and he had dark bags under his eyes. Jet assumed he hadn't been sleeping too well. He watched the rise and fall of Spike's chest as he took a deep breath. 

"You're gonna carry that weight," Jet said softly. Spike glanced away from him with an uneasy smile. "Thank you for talking to me, you didn't have to do that," Jet added and Spike rolled his eyes.

"You were basically begging for my tragic backstory," Spike quipped and Jet chuckled quietly. 

"No, I'm glad you told me," Jet side-eyed Spike. "Maybe now you won't be an asshole." Spike turned his face and hid a small smile.

"I feel lighter," Spike admitted quietly.

Jet nodded and saw a small branch of wilting leaves. He clipped it off. "Tends to be that way," he said. "I remember how easy Faye was after she'd told you about the cryogenics."

Spike laughed. "She was talking to that damn dog, I was eavesdropping," Spike sighed. "I hate that I miss that damn dog," he added gruffly.

Jet smiled. "I'm always waiting to hear Ed's laugh," he replied. At least they were in agreement with their lack of roommates. Spike glanced at him and there was a small smile on his lips. "What are you looking at?" Jet asked.

"I was gonna ask you if you wanted to get a drink."

Jet grinned and accepted his offer. They moved into the living room, Spike retrieving a bottle of old whiskey and two glasses. Jet was grateful for the eased tension and admired the smile on Spike's face.

Neither of them really drank that much. They both were just talking quietly, Jet telling stories about cop work on Ganymede. Spike spoke of his childhood on Mars. Jet was happy to listen to an unfiltered Spike rambling on about the Mars' night sky in the summer.

They sat beside each other, a change from their normal routine. Jet had an arm around the couch and he was close enough to feel Spike's warmth beside him. They were laughing, the Bebop was warm and it felt like home. 

The next day, Jet woke up on the couch alone. He made a beeline for his garden and sat among the trees. He meditated for a while, losing track of time. He found his thoughts getting sidetracked and always came back to Spike. 

Spike's eyes, those differently colored eyes. His smile that seemed so rare to be seen. The way he twirled cigarettes around his fingers even when he wasn't smoking them. When he was, Jet loved watching the smoke curl off his lips.

Jet opened his eyes to the green leaves and took a deep breath. Spike had plagued his thoughts for weeks now and he was getting a little fed up with himself. Jet was trying to tell Spike that he needed to talk about what he'd gone through but Jet wasn't brave enough to admit to having a crush on Spike.

How idiotic it all sounded in his head, so childish. Jet wasn't looking to admit some undying love for Spike but there was something about the way Jet felt. The way Spike made him feel. It confused him, unsettled him, and sometimes it even scared him. Jet had never considered open sexuality. He always thought he was attracted to women, until he'd met Spike. 

Spike made him feel all kinda ways. It always surprised him when he felt butterflies erupt in his gut, or the blush on his face. Jet watched Spike, the way he moved, the way he spoke. Jet was starting to see himself as more of a pervert than anything. The way he thought about Spike felt wrong, in a way. And it wasn't like there was any chance of reciprocity.

Jet took a day for himself to figure out how he could say something, do something, for Spike to notice the way he felt. He thought the 'meaningful life' monologue he'd given Spike in the workshop had been enough. Jet had to remind himself that nothing was ever enough for Spike.

So instead of overworking some ploy to confess his infatuation with Spike, he tried to be normal. He tried to control the heat of his face when Spike walked around the ship in just a towel, or when he asked him to check over his healing wounds. He tried to hold back the shivers that ran down his spine whenever Spike touched him.

It was difficult, trying not to say it right then and there. Or when Spike's laying on the couch with a cigarette between his teeth, idly watching the screen for new bounties. Jet had to contain himself, he felt like a lunatic trying to keep it bottled in. Jet had never been one to keep things like that to himself. For once, he'd wished so hard to see Faye again and ask for her womanly wisdom on the subject of seducing men. 

Spike seemed to notice something was off with Jet. Jet didn't know what gave it away, his shifting eyes or nervous ticks. 

Jet was in the kitchen and had knocked over a pan of food. He heard the volume of the television lower before Spike's voice perked up. "You alright in there, big guy?" he'd called from the couch. Jet could see him sitting up from the doorway.

"Y-Yeah, I'm fine."

While Jet cleaned up his mess, he'd looked up to see Spike standing over him with crossed arms and a raised eyebrow.

"What's got you so messed up? Rusted joint?" he joked and Jet rolled his eyes. Maybe this was his chance to try something.

"I've been a little preoccupied recently, there's been someone on my mind," he said dully, placing the pan in the sink and resuming cooking. Spike leaned against the counter and lit a cigarette, obviously not going anywhere. "I'm having trouble focussing."

"Must be pretty important to make you fuck dinner up," Spike quipped with a smile, and Jet laughed pitifully.

"I guess you could say that."

"What's she like?" Spike asked, assuming it was someone he'd met on a bounty run. Jet had to bite back a heavy sigh.

"Got a big ego, always bites off more than he can chew," Jet said and Spike raised both his eyebrows in surprise. Jet hadn't even realized what he'd said.

"He must be dashingly handsome and smart, too," Spike rolled his eyes with a sly grin. Jet couldn't tell if he was playing along or plain oblivious. 

"Yeah, he's quite a good looking guy but half the time he doesn't even realize he looks that good."

Spike offered Jet an uneasy smile and Jet could only stare at him. It was incredulous that Jet would have to be completely blunt with Spike if his emotional turmoil were to be released.

Jet looked into Spike's eyes, denying his smile. "He's lived a life of tragedy, he doesn't think he'll ever be happy even if happiness was right in front of him," Jet turned back to the food on the stove. He dished it onto plates and leaned against the kitchen counter. "Sometimes I wished he could read my mind so it'd be easier to say," Jet added quietly and Spike just looked at him. 

Spike took a plate and Jet didn't see him for the rest of the night. Jet sat in the living room, watching a very dumb movie, and eating his food. He'd stopped paying attention once he lit a cigarette. He smoked quietly, occasionally glancing towards the hallway as if Spike would walk through and tell him what he wanted to hear. That brought Jet to the question, what did he want to hear?

He wanted Spike to tell him that he felt the same. That there was this unidentified kinetic energy between them that had been there since they'd met. Since Jet offered Spike a ride on the Bebop. Even Faye had poked fun at them and occasionally called them 'space boyfriends'. Jet knew she was aware of it, the sexual tension between them, and what went unsaid. Jet missed the insufferable woman.

Jet knew that Faye would have some kind of shit advice to give him. Jet tried to think of what she'd say to him. All that came to his head was, "Go for it."

Jet found he thought about Faye quite often. She felt like the bratty younger sister to him. That didn't change when Jet learned she was almost eighty years old. If anything, he tended to trust Faye's personal wisdom. She had known about Jet's feelings for Spike before he had realized them. Jet had talked to her about it a couple days before Spike left to sign Vicious's death warrant. 

It didn't seem so long ago, now that she, along with Ed and Ein, was gone. Jet wished to see those pops of color in his life again. As the days wore on, he began to miss them more and more. Jet had always liked dogs, and he had experience with canine police forces. Though he preferred big dogs, he had grown a liking to the Corgi. Ed was so funny, so full of undying energy. Jet missed their big brain and third-person dialogue.

Jet knew that dwelling on the past wasn't charming but he had considered them his family for a short time. A much too short time.

Jet tried to look towards the future. By now, he felt uncertain of Spike's agenda on the Bebop. Would he follow the others and jump ship? Or would he choose to stay? 

Right then, Spike waltzed back into the kitchen to return his plate. Jet watched him quietly, lighting a cigarette. He leaned back against the couch and smoked quietly. Spike sat down on the couch across from him, leaning forward over the coffee table.

"Can I bum one? Pack ran dry today," he asked, and Jet handed him one, and Spike motioned for him to light it.

Just for a second, the lighter's flame lit up Spike's entire face. You could see the color difference of his eyes under that tiny flame. Jet thought, "Wow, he looks beautiful."

"Excuse me?"

Jet blinked at Spike stupidly before realizing, _"Oh, I've said that aloud."_ He tried to play it off. "I'll be honest," he chuckled. "I think you're a beautiful man, Spike."

Spike looked, for the most part, confused. Then it seemed like he realized something, and rolled his eyes dramatically. "That's why you're always staring at me," he said. "I'm irresistible, I know."

"Alright, big shot, hold your horses."

Spike laughed and looked Jet up and down. "What about you, hoss? Isn't everyone melting over your massive muscles by now?" he joked, his eyes moving around the room but never really focussing on anything.

"As if anyone finds an ex-cop turned bounty hunter attractive."

Spike scoffed. "You'd notice if you were paying attention," he said flippantly. 

"What does that mean?" Jet laughed, a grin taking over his face as he stubbed out his cigarette. He watched as Spike twirled his burning cherry cigarette around his fingers.

"To be honest, you're a handsome man, Jet," Spike mocked his earlier comment and it earned him a hearty laugh from Jet. 

"I didn't know you felt this way," Jet joked, laughing between his words. Spike rolled his eyes.

"Sure you did." Spike leaned forward to snub out the cigarette, leaning back and stretching his arms behind his head. He looked expectant.

"Why do you say that?"

"Because I know you, Jet Black. It's like I can read your mind," he quipped, a smirk forming on his lips. Jet was taken aback, maybe Spike hadn't been as oblivious as he thought. Perhaps Jet was the one being avoidant and suspicious.

"You're an asshole, Spike," Jet grumbled and glanced away, feeling the embarrassed flush warm his face. Spike laughed, grinning wildly. 

"But you keep me around anyways. Trust me, I know I'm an asshole. I always wondered what it was that kept me here for so long," he said, his voice donning a light, airy tone. He laughed softly. "It was you."

Jet furrowed his brows, not quite understand the turn their conversation took. "There are a billion people just like me," he countered.

Spike shook his head. "That's where you're wrong, there's only one black dog," Spike took a breath. "I've never met someone like you before," he added.

Jet could only stare at him. How could he say such things with such nonchalance? Jet couldn't even think about Spike without getting worked up, or frustrated. He wanted things to be different, but he couldn't find the words to say so.

They locked eyes for a moment, Spike wore a sly smile. Jet noticed the warm red that flushed his ears and down his neck. He was leaning forward, as if enticing Jet to try something. His eyes were narrowed, antagonizing. 

What had she said? _"Go for it..."_ No, it's what he wished she'd said. 

Jet leaned forward and grabbed Spike by the collar, bringing their lips together. Spike was tense at first, despite actively teasing him for the past hour. He eventually leaned into Jet's space. The kiss was firm and not what Jet expected. When they pulled away, there was a glittering light in Spike's eyes.

"Finally," Spike mumbled before pulling him back in again. Jet fell over the coffee table and landed on top of him, deepening the kiss. Spike's hands wandered over Jet's chest and down his sides. 

Jet pulled away again to stare at Spike, unraveled and disheveled beneath him. His face was flushed and his eyes shined. Jet just looked at him. Spike offered a smile and reached up to touch Jet's face. To run his hands over his facial hair and the small metal component under his eye.

Jet watched as Spike's eyes analyzed his face and the little smile that touched his lips. There was something different about the calm in Spike's demeanor. Spike slipped his hand into Jet's pocket, his nimble fingers stealing the box of cigarettes and the lighter. 

With Jet straddling him, Spike laid his head back and lit another cigarette. Jet laughed, stealing the cigarette from his fingers and blowing smoke in his face.

"You always have ulterior motives," Jet said, handing the cigarette back to him. Spike tossed it into the ashtray and pulled Jet down again.

"Yeah, well, this time I don't."

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a little short I decided to write after I finished watching Cowboy Bebop for the first time. I used to watch a lot of anime, but not so much anymore. To ease myself back into the world of anime, I started with Cowboy Bebop and Carole and Tuesday! If you like CB, I highly recommend watching Carole and Tuesday (on Netflix). It's set in the same universe and is based on AI music. 
> 
> Thank you for reading my stupid little fic, I enjoyed writing it. This is completely un-beta'd so apologies for spelling or grammar mistakes. Have a good day, loves. -Adrian


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